


No Place In Heaven

by kaijuvenom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has homophobic parents, Friends to Lovers, High School AU, M/M, Me Slandering Christianity, Mentions of Christianity, Mentions of homophobia, all my homies got a bad relationship with christianity, and Crowley is probably a satanist but mostly hes just gay, and that means christian-centric-white-person-satanism too, crowley's not a satanist nevermind, fuck christianity, i dont like satanism either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been best friends for years, but Aziraphale's parents don't exactly approve. Crowley is just trying to make it through his senior year without losing his mind, but the unfortunate crush he has on Aziraphale isn't making it any easier.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	No Place In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> _Father, will you forgive me for my sins? Father, if there’s a heaven, let me in. I don't know where to go if I should die, we haven't been on speaking terms for so long, you and I. For every love I had to hide and every tear I ever cried, I'm down on my knees, I'm begging you, please. There's no place in Heaven for someone like me. But won’t you open the door and try me once more?_

Approximately halfway through Crowley’s senior year of high school, he was sitting in the front row of bible studies class, staring at the TA. That was absolutely no different from every other school day for the past three years and a half years, and really, it shouldn’t have been shocking that nothing different was happening. It was the same every day, right before lunch, Crowley would pull his Bible out of the bottom of his backpack, flounce into classroom 28, take the seat in the front row on the far left corner, slam the Bible on his desk, and proceed to do nothing but listen to the pointless ramblings of a boring old man for the next hour and a half. 

The whiteboard in front of him read, “The Temptation of David, 2 Samuel 11:2 - 12:25”, in the TA’s neat handwriting. Crowley stared at it, admiring the looping cursive and easily legible words, before indulging in his usual occupation of staring at the TA, Aziraphale, himself. Crowley had barely spoken a word to him all semester aside from the daily greeting, they’d had a bit of a… falling out over the summer. They’d been friends, since childhood pretty much, but his parents owned a bookshop that Crowley happened to be a regular at, although by ‘bookshop’, he meant Christian bookshop and trinket store, and by ‘regular at’, he meant he came in to silently judge the products and turn a couple crosses upside down while he waited for Aziraphale to come down from grabbing some new book he’d just discovered and was going to tell Crowley all about whether he wanted to hear it or not. But then there’d been that problem with Aziraphale’s parents. They hadn’t liked the influence they assumed Crowley was having on their perfect angel of a child. 

_ “You should read more Wilde,” Crowley suggested, as Aziraphale bounded down the stairs from his family’s small apartment above the shop. He was examining a book that promised to ‘promote the classic, best-selling, 13-week study to conduct an Experiencing God Weekend’. Whatever an ‘Experiencing God Weekend’ was, Crowley did not care enough to find out. The cover of the book was the most interesting part, it was designed like a paperback romance novel, depicting an old man with a flowing beard holding a staff triumphantly in the middle of a storm (Crowley assumed the old man was meant to be god, but again, he didn’t care to find out), and the title was in a gold-colored, cursive font. All it was missing was a traditionally pretty white woman with her flowing dress halfway pulled off to reveal a heaving bosom as her silken dress blew in the wind.  _

_ “Oscar Wilde?” Aziraphale asked, pulling Crowley out of his deep book cover analysis.  _

_ “Of course, what other Wilde is there?” _

_ “I don’t think my parents would approve of that.” _

_ Crowley turned to him, rolling his eyes. “They’re classics, angel. Everyone’s read them.” _

_ “Yes, well, not my parents.”  _

_ “Oh to be you and to have the most rebellious thing I could do would be to read books with homoerotic subtext,” Crowley muttered, tilting his head as he examined what he could only assume was a poorly photocopied and pixelated image of a Renaissance-era painting of the baby Jesus pasted onto the front of a calendar.  _

_ “What?” Aziraphale asked, sounding rather surprised. “Was Oscar Wilde…?” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand. _

_ “What, gay?” Crowley asked. “Of course. He was arrested for it. You didn’t know that?” He clicked his tongue. “Why am I not surprised?”  _

_ “You know my parents don’t approve of… that sort of thing.” _

_ “That sort of thing,” Crowley repeated, snickering to himself. “You really are the perfect Catholic child, aren’t you?” _

_ Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, although I know it wasn’t one. But that is entirely beside the point. I said my parents don’t approve of that sort of thing. I think it’s perfectly natural.” _

They hadn’t cared that Crowley was failing most of his classes, or had a fake ID and stayed up until five in the morning doing everything he shouldn’t be doing. No, they cared that Crowley had an ex-boyfriend. Aziraphale knew, of course, Crowley had mentioned him casually before, and he’d never really reacted to it, maybe because he hadn’t really thought through what the phrase ‘my ex’ meant when it was followed by using he/him pronouns for said ex, and he’d never really connected the dots. Aziraphale’s parents, however, had connected the dots, and he hadn’t been allowed back in the bookshop or to even talk to Aziraphale since. But they couldn’t stop him from staring, so that was what he did. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, nodding his head in greeting, as he usually did. “You’re always the first one here.”

“No, angel, that’d be you,” Crowley corrected with a smile. 

The smile on Aziraphale’s face was enough to turn night into daytime and outshine every star in the sky. Or maybe Crowley was just really gay.

“We haven’t talked in a while, have we?” 

He was still so quiet, like he was afraid of getting caught at any second, even though no one else was in the room yet.

“No. Not since June.” He remembered the exact day, should Aziraphale ask.

“Excited for Winter break?” He asked tentatively, still smiling at Crowley in _t_ _ hat way _ . 

“I guess. Won’t be able to see you every day, though.” He didn’t know why he’d said that, it had slipped out without him giving the green light on it. 

Thankfully, Aziraphale took it as a joke, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve missed you around the bookshop, I never really got to apologize for my parents.”

“You’ve had all semester, angel,” Crowley responded, raising an eyebrow. 

Aziraphale looked away, finally deciding this eye contact was too much. “Well, yes, but- I’m not exactly- adept at apologizing.”

“Good, because you don’t have to in this situation. You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?”

“Well, I suppose not, but still. It’s not like my parents are planning on apologizing.” 

Crowley didn’t answer, instead he just sighed quietly, and looked at the whiteboard. “The temptation of David, hm? Lemme guess, some king of something who saw a naked girl and decided he couldn’t keep it in his pants?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Right on the mark, there”

“Speaking of temptations, what can I really gain from staying for this lesson?”

“Evidently, a lot.”

Crowley’s eyes twinkled a little. “Would it really teach me anything? You really think my lust is going to be satiated by another boring lesson about temptation?”

“Lust?” 

Crowley winked, then shrugged. “Whatever sin it is. I highly doubt a couple more Bible passages will change my life. It hasn’t worked yet.”

If Aziraphale were any less polite, he would’ve rolled his eyes. “You know, Crowley, it’s not—my parents aren’t exactly—” he stumbled over his words, fiddling with a button on his vest. “It isn’t a sin to be—” he suddenly seemed absolutely fascinated by said vest button. “To be gay,” he finally finished, as if the sentence had been physically painful for him to push out—which directly contradicted the meaning of his words. 

The classroom door opened immediately after that, putting an immediate end to their conversation as the teacher and several other students entered, which was probably for the best, as Crowley really had no idea how to respond to that. He supposed an apology half a year later was better than nothing, but what was the point? Crowley had been content to stare silently at Aziraphale for the rest of the school year and then be resigned to never see him again after graduating. Perhaps Aziraphale simply felt guilty. 

Yes, that was probably it—he only apologized to soothe his own conscience, not because he’d truly felt bad for what Crowley had gone through. He suddenly felt the emotions he’d been successfully repressing for several months and he forced himself to look away from Aziraphale. His stomach felt like it was collapsing into a series of complicated knots and twisting around like a snake. Why had Aziraphale talked to him--his whole routine was thrown off now. He checked the clock. Five minutes until class started. He thought about getting up and leaving, just to get away from the mess of feelings. But Aziraphale was looking at him, staring, and he couldn’t figure out the expression on his face. It made him want to stay. At least so Aziraphale wouldn’t think he was leaving because of him.

The class was as long and boring as it always was, and at the end of the day, the moral of the story seemed to be, “women are either evil temptresses meant to lead good men astray, or quiet, comely homemakers” and Crowley found that there was quite a lot to unpack there, and almost commented during the class discussion, but decided it was best to throw the whole metaphorical suitcase away.

The second the bell rang, Crowley, snatched up his bag and didn’t even bother apologizing when he knocked directly into someone in his attempt to leave the classroom first. His plan was to run out of the classroom, out of the entire school, and possibly keep running until the rest of him felt as numb as his heart. Which was rather dramatic of him, but Crowley was nothing if not a dramatic. 

Unfortunately for his plans, someone managed to catch up with him in the hallway and grabbed his hand, pulling him back and into a conveniently placed and conveniently empty classroom. 

“Aziraphale, what-” Crowley began, pulling his hand out of Aziraphale’s grip and stepping back, not in the mood for whatever it was he would have to say. 

“I need to talk to you, Crowley.”

“No you don’t, angel. You just want to live out your good Catholic savior boy fantasy or whatever. If you actually wanted to be my friend, you wouldn't have stopped talking to me because of your parents.”

“It isn’t that simple, Crowley! Please, you don’t understand.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, staring at him. Their next class was in two minutes, and Aziraphale was nothing if not punctual, but he seemed frozen in place at the moment, looking into Crowley’s eyes with an intensity he couldn’t quite place. 

“I thought if I stopped talking to you, it’d make it easier,” he finally said, and Crowley had just about had enough with his vagaries, and he very nearly said that, before Aziraphale spoke again.

“Meet me outside the bookstore, after school?” 

Crowley bit the inside of his cheek, considering his options. He could agree to meet Aziraphale, continue this ridiculous back and forth until one of them really got hurt, or he could refuse. Make an attempt to move on. He was inclined to choose option two and opened his mouth to say so, when Aziraphale squeezed his arm, a soft smile on his face.

“Please?” 

And Crowley couldn’t say no to that. So he didn’t. He simply shook his head, extracting himself from Aziraphale’s grip, and began making his way down the hall, before turning briefly.

“I’ll be there,” he said, taking a second to stare back at him before continuing to his next class and blending in with the crowds of people.

Crowley really had no idea what Aziraphale may be planning to tell him, and he tried not to dwell on it. He spent most of his time thinking about Aziraphale already, he didn’t need another thing added to his list of reasons why he should be thinking about him. So, he tried to focus on his schoolwork. Which was nearly impossible, considering his schoolwork was boring as fuck. 

The day passed by slowly, far more slowly than usual, the monotony dragging Crowley down as he attempted to stay afloat. Oh, how ecstatic he would be once he could graduate and leave this school and all of its maddeningly idiotic teachers who had never taught a real fact in their lives.

Finally,  _ finally _ , Crowley could leave, and he was so obsessed with leaving as quickly as possible that he completely forgot he was meant to be seeing Aziraphale. The good news for him was that the bookstore was on his way home, and Aziraphale was waiting for him there, sitting at one of the outdoor tables of the cafe next door and sipping a cup of tea, doing his homework like the perfect angel he was. 

Aziraphale, being an overachiever, had taken as many classes as possible during his first three years at high school and now only had three classes for his entire senior year--what Crowley wouldn’t give to have that schedule. Although he could’ve had it, but that would’ve meant more work in past years, and Crowley was all about less work. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale jumped up from his chair, practically bouncing over to Crowley and taking his hand, which Crowley stared down at, blinking. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come, and I wouldn’t blame you, I would’ve-”

“Angel, with all due respect, get to the point,” Crowley said, still watching the way Aziraphale’s fingers twisted to intertwine their fingers together, for a reason he still wasn’t able to fathom.

“I always knew you were…” he paused, swallowing. “I always knew you were gay. And I didn’t mind. I’ve told you that before, but my parents…” he trailed off, shrugging. “I’m afraid of them. Of what they’d do if they knew- if they knew- I- well, if I did this.” Aziraphale leaned forward, standing on his toes to reach Crowley, and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss on the lips. And Crowley stared at him. Unblinking. 

“I tried to tell you so many times, but then I thought… what if my parents found out? What would they do to me? What would they do to  _ you _ ?” Aziraphale shrugged, oblivious to the way Crowley’s world had done a complete one-eighty in terms of what exactly he thought was happening in his life. 

“And so I tried to avoid you. To keep myself safe, to keep both of us safe. But…”

“Angel,  _ what _ ?” Crowley asked, finally managing to find his voice after several minutes of absolute silence from him.

“I’ve liked you, Crowley. For so long probably years, probably even before I admitted to myself I was gay, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t- I didn’t tell you before,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s other hand as well, holding them both up to his chest.

His smile was so soft, so genuine, so pure, and Crowley’s heart felt like it might beat out of his chest right there, and he absolutely wouldn’t mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter/Tumblr: @kaijuvenom


End file.
